


counting the seconds

by Elisye



Category: Subarashiki Kono Sekai | The World Ends With You, 逆転裁判 | Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: Gen, Gyakuten Saiban 6 | Spirit of Justice Spoilers, the hella indulgent reaper!polly au that no one wanted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-23 09:09:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8322169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisye/pseuds/Elisye
Summary: "In most places, the dead don't talk. Here, they definitely can." The man sighs, as if a life-sized load of paperwork had been dropped right in front of him to sort out within a day or so. "As you've probably guessed, that doesn't make our job any easier."(or: Khura'in is home in more ways than one.)





	

It takes ten days for the transfer to be complete.

Luggage and housing and the matter of becoming a permanent resident aside, even.

It's a funny thing, yet it's not surprising either - to move is to move, simple as that. It's the movement of connections that simply take longer, to catch and retie the threads into the most natural ways possible. The revival of lost connections, even more so.

Apollo thus takes his good time in wiping clean the signboard, meticulously reaching into the rusted grooves with a handy bottle of oil and a ragged cloth that really must have seen better days.

Once in a while, his eyes stray upwards - to the window-side table, where the miniature shrine still sits, quiet but bright through filtered sunlight. There was only one portrait kept up there, now taken down, replaced with another face, just as familiar and just as sad to look upon. Nonetheless, a pot of white flowers lend their peace, and Dhurke gives the biggest grin possible, etched into photo-ink and framed in imitation gold. One can only smile back at such a face, and that's exactly what he does, before looking towards the piling papers left by its side.

Cases, old and new, dusted and freshly printed. A round badge sits on top of them, neat and silent. The light hides it within its own shadow, so from afar, anyone would guess it to be his attorney badge.

From his own point of view, the impression of a ritualistic skull in blue upon gold blinks back at him.

Not white upon black, nor very stylistic in design - but it'll still match with his red jacket, and that's really all that matters.

.

.

It takes about five days before there's a knock on the door, amid a swarm of cases and so little time.

Rebuilding a legal system isn't an easy thing to do. He barely expected it to be, especially when it's clear that it would need to be a complete ground-up job - the infrastructure is weak, broken from a thousand laws written and rewritten and erased over Ga'ran's rule. Sure, these changes are all null now, but going back to the way things were isn't the same or as easy as the press of a restart button. The years have taken their toll, and the marks left won't fade so simply.

So the unknown man who enters, partly veiled behind a blue shawl that seemed to twist all around his body and into his Khurainese hat, gives a look of utmost sympathy as he glances around the paper-flooded office with graceful, careful steps.

"You have your work cut out for you."

"Thanks for the obvious." It's a little too snarky for ten in the morning, but he's barely got a moment to grab a cup of coffee either. "Sorry for getting to the point, but are you a client, or...?"

"Not a client. Not quite a guest either." The man shifts about, taking a sweeping look around the office one more time, before slowly moving to close the door behind him. It's a quiet gesture, barely audible, but it brings a strange tenseness into the room - Apollo isn't sure if that's his personal opinion on the mood, on his feelings, or his bracelet reacting despite not actually doing anything.

The stranger clears his throat. "Allow me to introduce myself, first - my name is Seeka'ret Reepa. You may have heard of me before."

Apollo blinks, drinks in the silence that follows - the morning isn't kind on his memory, especially without breakfast, but...

He shoots straight up from his chair. "Y-You're— The Conductor?"

"I am." The man fidgets with his shawl a bit, fingers absently tracing the white swirls and lightning-blue strokes across the fabric. (It makes for a slightly chaotic fashion statement, but in a place like the Underground...) "Some of your new coworkers must have visited you, if you recognize me by that title."

"I wouldn't say 'visit' exactly..." More like ran into a group of them squatting outside his office, making bets on passing Players and the missions to come.

The Conductor chuckles, as if reading his mind. "Seems like a merry encounter, nonetheless. And, now, I don't have any serious business with you either - so, Sir Justice, I think it would do you some good if you settled down a bit and get yourself something to drink. Being overly anxious is a slow, painful way to die, after all."

"I don't think the dead can die twice," is out of his mouth before he can stop himself.

"Death in flesh and blood, no." He doesn't bat a single eyelash. "Death by Noise and erasure, perhaps. A second chance isn't immunity, only just that. Keep that in mind, even here - for while this city must be quite foreign to you, the way we work is universal."

The lawyer sits back down almost hesitantly. Maybe he really could use a cup of coffee, if only to see if he really is being lectured by his new boss and not dreaming away while half-asleep on his desk somehow. It's something to appreciate, considering the Conductor back home didn't even bother to brief him on his job beyond the bare basics in the beginning, and other things that would have been extremely helpful to know from the start - but, still. It's just ten in the morning. Too early for overtly complex algorithms.

"I'll keep it in mind for sure," is what he ends up answering, in return for a satisfied nod and a vanishing act that isn't a vanishing act at all.

.

.

It's hard to balance a time-consuming job with another time-consuming job, especially in secret, but somehow he manages.

For about two weeks before straight up passing out.

When he comes to, he's lying on the ratty sofa in his law office, Nahyuta and a half-familiar face peering down at him.

"You're awake." A harsh, heavy wave of relief seems to outright drop itself from the prosecutor's shoulders. "By the good graces of the Holy Mother."

Apollo tries to lift himself up, but his arms don't obey him and simply stay limp by his side, tired. Nahyuta goes on, nonetheless - because his ears work just fine, and despite all the years and distance between them, it's somehow a fact they both just understand.

"—Honestly, Apollo, I know very well that you're the type to never stop until a given task is complete, but to neglect your own health serves no benefits whatsoever." Clear teal eyes, while directed straight into a case file now, almost seem to smolder and burn through the print in a blind, mindless fashion. "It's only by pure luck that this young man here found you, collapsed in an alleyway—of all things, really, an alleyway? What in the world were you thinking of accomplishing in such a place? If you wanted some quiet, the royal palace is certainly a much better choice than a seedy _alleyway._ "

"Uhh..." He'd really like to explain that, but... Well, the words don't even try to come to him, just a weary groan.

Nahyuta looks over him once more, sighing. His worries are clear, but as usual, he doesn't make any verbal indication to it - he simply shakes his head, and murmurs something about going to make some spiced tea. And that Apollo, in a sharp tone, should just stay where he is for now. (As if he could move anywhere in his exhausted state.)

Once he disappears into the back rooms, the half-familiar man leans against the backside of the sofa, making a short, low whistle. "—Well, he sure is caring. Would never have thought."

"...It's a privilege." Apollo replies after a long-drawn moment of working with his throat.

The man laughs at that, grinning just as his blurred face clears up a bit to reveal someone the lawyer has become fairly acquainted with, at least over the course of two weeks. All that's missing is the blue-gold badge on his caftan, and a pair of small, spiked black wings on his back. "Sure must be! I've heard plenty of reapers say he's as cold as a monk who locked himself up in a mountain temple. You're probably a real lucky person to see something most people don't."

"Well, if we want to be technical..." The words are mutters, and his throat is practically killing him - but the message is clear, and the man simply smiles back, thin and broadly stretched out. To the point that it almost looks creepily threatening in a way.

"Haha, I know. We all know. Death is a real, tangible thing in Khura'in. But to think of it as the end—that's what people don't know, and shouldn't."

The reaper picks himself off the sofa, patting away imaginary dust. "So, newbie. We'll all give you a hand with your work down here - in return, don't burn yourself so hard that you make more Noise than we need. Your creations can still attack you in the end, but you already knew that now didn't ya?"

And perhaps, if only to not give Apollo a hard time trying to explain things, he makes his way out with a cheery wave and a loud slam of the door behind him.

.

.

The gavel bangs once, bangs twice, thrice. The gallery quietens, restlessly so.

"Your Benevolence." The judge looks down from his high seat with several wide blinks. "Are you certain of that?"

The princess irritably chews on a fingernail, almost glaring down at the shallow pool. "...Indeed, Your Majestry."

"But that should be impossible." However calm he is, Nahyuta fidgets with his prayer beads, red and dull against the white of his suit. "Can the soul of the deceased truly refuse to answer you?"

"I do not know for sure." Rayfa chews on the nail some more, still staring down at the rippling water, seeing nothing but a blank reflection as the moments pass. "I vaguely remember reading about such odd incidents before. But this is all I have grasped from the victim themselves - they simply will not reveal their last moments. Not that I cannot reach them, nor that there is any interference."

"Mere refusal, is it now..."

There are a few murmurs in the crowd again. Apollo takes the time to look down at the autopsy report again, sweat rolling down his neck - he knows the name and the face are definitely right, only because he saw the victim running past his office just last night, screaming with an opera-defying pitch from a couple of frogs and wolves. Thankfully, no one heard or saw the victim, since they were nothing but an apparition of Soul in a different plane of existence. Not so thankfully, he can't explain something as illogical as that to court and get another day to investigate the case. From this whole, boggling mess, what he can make of it is pretty much huffed out of his lips in the roughest manner possible.

Well, on an optimistic note, if he manages to settle this case today, he'll have some time to spare for the other thirty eight still lying on his desk. On a not so optimistic note, he isn't looking forward to hearing who messed up big time in the prosecutor offices and brought this case over, when the victim is still playing in the Game.

.

.

It's been months since he's seen home.

Not that Khura'in isn't home, but for a while, even a bit at this point...

Apollo hands out a small glass of water to his guest - a lady with green-dyed hair tied up in a prim bun, red-rimmed spectacles giving her a studious, serious look. She accepts the glass with a cheeky grin, however, contrasting against her light movements.

"Well, I see someone finally got some manners." She elbows him as he walks around to the nearby armchair. "Did moving all the way here and opening your own law office help with that?"

"Please, Aime. I've always had manners."

"Oh-ho, says the guy who just stood by his wall when a pair of Players broke out into a cat fight over new Pegaso shoes."

"In my defense, what the heck was I supposed to do about that? It's not even a part of our job to break up stuff like that."

She just rolls her eyes. "Sure, sure. But Players erasing each other is pretty damn anti-climatic, Justice. Besides, you could have at least sent them along to me! I had a great riddle prepared for people at my wall."

"Your 'great riddles' are just puns your own name!"

" _Exactly!_ " A strong set of pearly teeth show through her grin. "Aime Dhedd, your local dead American! Isn't that just fucking hilarious?"

"Honestly," Apollo gives her a flat look. "I still don't know how you're not tired of it."

"And I don't know how you're not tired of your cheesy-ass business card."

"Hey!"

She just shrugs at him, a touch smug now. "Just saying, _Justice_. Just sayin'."

"Argh, enough about my last name already." The lawyer leans into the armchair, the velvet cloth almost making him sink right into it. One day, he'll probably have an impression of his back firmly left in it. Maybe. "—How's things back home, Aime?"

"As usual. The winners are a little on the lesser side than usual, but that's only because Maddelina got chosen for GM." At the fairly disgruntled look on the other's face, the lady just nods, empathy clear as day. "Wish I were joking, but I'm not. Miss Prima Donna of Assery herself has always been working towards it, you know? It's something to admire, even if she's a terror to work with. So, well, now that's she's gotten it, she's been a lot worse than usual with her attitude. But on the better side, most of it gets thrown out at the Players over us, so like, the amount we complain about her hasn't changed much, I guess."

"...That's not exactly what I'd call a good development there - she'll probably gun for Officer next, after a few weeks of being GM." And boy, suddenly, is Apollo glad that he isn't living in America any more. The letters he received over the last couple of months can't possibly talk about everything, but in a way, hearing only the good and bits of the bad can be a much better choice than personally living the nightmare that is genuinely shitty coworkers. And for the fairly long while he lived as just another support reaper in the whole undead administration of his district, he's gotten to know a couple of faces like that, some long gone and some probably still there.

"I know..." Aime slumps down a bit into her chair, looking through the remaining water in her glass and watching odd shapes in it. "But that's why you're darn lucky here, y'know? Where we die, we end up staying forever. So being able to move all the way from America to Khura'in - that's such a huge thing for all of us, not just you. And honestly, I'm a little surprised that you're doing so well here, despite all the things that must be going on here."

"I don't really have much of choice on that." Apollo stares up at the ceiling, blank, and sighing a little. "There's definitely a lot to do here, and it's gotten to me more than I'd like - but fixing what's wrong in this country is more or less something I just _have_ to do. Even if that means reviewing cases while I'm guarding my wall at midnight."

"...I was going to comment on the extra fact that someone secretly filmed you in court when you dethroned that queen, so y'know, the whole world pretty much knows you're responsible for all this now—but, midnight? Seriously?" She just stares at him now. "Ouch. At least, even we don't schedule Games in the middle of the night. Even _Maddelina_  wouldn't do that. Poor you, Justice. Poor you."

"Jeez, thanks for rubbing it in, Aime."

The reaper smiles pleasantly. "Well, I took my first vacation off in decades just to see you, so drink it in while you can! America's a far, far away place, after all."

.

.

The seasons pass - gold, red, white, green. And it's back to the starting point in one turn, at some point.

It doesn't feel as if much time has passed. Apollo only remembers time and its ticking procession when he finds himself squinting at case notes in the dark by an invisible wall, or when looking at a native pogfox, surrounded by blue flames and bright pink ribbons streaming from around its neck. Otherwise, he feels the same as ever, and looks the same as ever.

The consequence of being a dead man walking, after all.

For all the dramatic changes in the past year or so, surprisingly, it doesn't feel like things have changed since his move from the States - surely, a different setting, and definitely a different book of rules to go by, but life is still colorfully complaisant. The court system isn't fixed, still far from that, but it's in a lot better state compared to before. The city glows and grows with a different tint of light, the sea of Soul in the air once stagnant, now flowing like the wind. More or less like home, in a roundabout way.

Filling the flower pot with a fresh cup of water, Apollo takes a moment to look out the window - a view of the market road below, bustling with its usual activity, echoing into his ears. A few frequencies up, where he actually is, and the sounds seem to shout out straight into his ears, mingling with the screeches of passing nightingales and a never-ending stream of muffled thoughts. With the privacy of the UG in addition to the quiet of his own little room above the office, he takes his time with stretching out the modestly-sized wings on his back as he moves to skim through a notice on the next Game to be held next week, along side a summary of the murder case he picked up yesterday.

Glancing up just once - the sun still shines high into the peak of the sky, and that means the days to come will never seem to end. That's just perfect for him.

**Author's Note:**

> my au has ten thousand holes in it and only me for an audience, but i still love it.
> 
> also if it very isnt clear - and it probs isnt because i wrote this literally at midnight - Apollo is a wall reaper and has gladly been so a fairly long time before aa4 even happened.


End file.
